


Spinning Plates

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Moz is a Good Friend, Multi, emotional breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal tries to keep it together when Peter is shot, and he mostly succeeds.</p>
<p>Originally published on my LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning Plates

_This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening._

“Peter!”

“Neal! Can he come with me? Please?”

“Sure,” the EMT said, “hop in.”

Neal got into the ambulance uncertainly and tried desperately to melt into the background. The last thing he wanted to do was get in the way. 

“Ah, shit!” Peter moaned as the ambulance pulled into traffic, jostling him. 

“Hang on, I’ll give you something for the pain,” the EMT said.

_This is NOT happening, it is NOT!_ Neal thought as his own insides clenched at the sight of Peter in pain.

It was stupidly, craptastically random. They’d gone out for lunch like they always did, when some kid high on something thought it’d be a good idea to jack up the pizza joint across the street from the FBI building. Peter had tried to calm the kid, who had freaked when he saw Peter’s badge on his belt and started getting nervous. The half dozen other FBI agents in the place had drawn on him, but not before he got a shot off. The kid was dead before he hit the floor, and Peter lay in a heap at Neal's feet, bleeding from a gutshot.

That was – wow, was that really less than thirty minutes ago? It felt like a week, and now they were on their way to the hospital. 

“Neal? You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m OK.”

“You look like hell. Doesn’t he look like hell?” Peter asked the EMT, who had done injecting some morphine into Peter’s IV, and was checking on his vital signs in a repetitive way, keeping an eye on everything. 

“He looks like hell,” the EMT, a young man with a nametag on his uniform that read “Caruso” agreed.

“You should monitor him for shock.”

“They should monitor _you_ for shock,” Neal replied, sounding exactly like a sullen child, and Peter chuckled at him until the pain laughing caused made him gasp.

“Peter?”

“Shh, they’ve got me,” he said reassuringly, and Neal knew he was trying to be brave in the face of it all, which was why he reached his hand out, and Peter squeezed it so hard Neal may have felt something crack.

When they arrived, Neal was shown a waiting area to stay in by a petite but no-nonsense nurse named Tracee, and he stood where she left him for a full three minutes before he realized he could move around the room. There was a water cooler in the corner, so Neal went to get a drink in one of those pointy paper cups because there was nothing else he could think of to do, and then he realized he needed to call Elizabeth.

“Neal, sweetie, for the last time, stop with the sexting!” She was in Chicago for the week at a convention, and Neal had been sending her naughty pictures all morning. 

Neal paused – how exactly were you supposed to break this kind of news? “Elizabeth –“

“Don’t ‘Elizabeth’ me, young man! It’s a good thing I was alone on the elevator when I got that last one!” When he didn’t laugh or respond, she picked up that something was wrong. “What is it, Neal?” 

“There’s been an – an incident. We’re at the hospital.” He began to pace the length of the room as he spoke to her, he needed to do something, take some kind of action.

“The hospital? Why?” 

“We were in a hold-up and the kid had a gun, and –“ There was a clattering at the other end of the call, then some muffled sounds – he guessed she may have dropped the phone. “El?” He could hear her breathing deeply at the other end. 

“How is he?” she finally said.

He closed his eyes at the flatness in her voice – she sounded so resigned, somehow, as if her worst nightmare coming true had always been a foregone conclusion. “The doctors are with him now.”

“Neal, this isn’t happening.” Neal could hear the tears in her voice, the desperation and worry. “It’s not happening, it’s not happening,” she chanted.

“Listen to me, El, listen!” he said to her urgently, and perhaps a bit louder than he’d meant to, but he needed her to focus. He could hear her sniff in surprise at the other end, and he reasoned she could yell at him later. “You have to keep it together, El. You need to get into a cab and get to the airport.”

“But my things – the hotel…”

“The hotel will send you your things. You need to get into a cab and head straight to O’Hare. There will be a ticket waiting for you, I’ll call them now and make a reservation, and text you the details. It’s going to be fine, El, just fine.”

“You really think so?” she said, her voice small, breathy, and the panicked edge he heard there nearly broke his heart.

“He’s conscious, and he was giving me the business in the ambulance, so you know it can’t be that bad.”

“Tell him I love him, Neal.”

“You’ll tell him yourself. Now get going. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, her voice hitching as she rang off.

“Come on, Peter,” he whispered, “don’t make me a liar.”

\----

It was maybe thirty minutes later when Nurse Tracee returned with a doctor, introducing him as Dr. Niman. “How is he?” Neal asked, the tension in his back and shoulders making him feel like he might snap in half. 

“You are?”

“I’m his partner.”

The doctor took in the simple gold band Neal wore on his left hand, a symbol of the commitment he shared with Peter and El, and nodded. “He’s stable for now, but we’ll be taking him up for surgery within the hour.”

“Is he OK? Is he talking?”

“Would you like to see him?”

Hope and fear both fluttered in Neal's chest as he nodded and let the doctor lead him to Peter’s side. 

“Hey,” Peter said, his voice surprisingly strong despite his appearance. He seemed somehow diminished, as if the bullet still lodged inside him had somehow removed the spark that powered him. He was pale and his eyes were glassy – Neal suspected he was on a lot of pain killers.

“How –“ Neal could barely speak.

“Fine, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’ll _be_ fine, then. How are you?”

Neal took hold of the hand that had the least amount of things sticking out of it and held it in both of his; Peter squeezed it lightly, weakly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Did you talk to El?” Peter’s voice cracked, the first indication he was concerned. “She’s gonna be so worried.”

“She’s on her way. I got her onto the 2:00 flight out of O’Hare. She’ll be here in just a couple hours.”

“That’s good, good,” Peter slurred as his eyes drifted shut. A sudden whine and wail of the machines that were hooked up to him signaled that something was wrong.

“Peter? Peter!” Neal had his hand on Peter’s shoulder, but he was unresponsive.

Then there were doctors and nurses swarming around them, pushing Neal out of the way as one person released the bed so that Peter was lying flat on his back, another began to poke at his belly, and Dr. Niman began barking out orders and calling for medication. 

“He’s in cardiac arrest.”

“He’s bleeding out, we’ll have to operate now! Somebody get me two units of O-Neg STAT!” 

Neal just watched helplessly as they worked. Eventually, Nurse Tracee with the kind eyes noticed him there and gently but firmly escorted him out of the room. Neal stood in the hallway and watched as doctors and nurses worked desperately to save Peter’s life in an intricate choreography that they’d undoubtedly performed countless other times, and that Neal hoped would be a success this afternoon.

A buzzing and vibrating in his pocket alerted him to the fact his mobile phone was ringing. A glance at the readout told him who it was. “Elizabeth,” he answered, keeping his voice deliberately neutral. “Are you at the airport?”

“I’m in a taxi, we’re close. I needed an update.”

“The doctors are with him,” Neal said calmly, closing his eyes as a nurse handed the paddles of a defibrillator to the doctor. Someone yelled, “CLEAR!” and Neal flinched.

“Did you get to see him?”

“I did. He said to say he loves you, and not to worry, and to be careful.” He could hear her breathing hitch as she held back a sob, and he very much wanted to join her, but he couldn't. He wouldn’t. 

“Did he look OK?” 

“He was mostly worried about you and me.” Neal could feel his throat clenching up – he wouldn’t be able to keep his voice calm for much longer. 

“Tell him I love him.”

“He knows.”

\----

The doctors were able to restart Peter’s heart, and he was rushed into surgery immediately. Neal spent another tense half hour in the family waiting area on the surgical floor, but was thankfully soon joined by Diana.

“How is he?” 

Neal shook his head, not wanting to recount the fact that Peter had actually flatlined while in the ER. “In surgery,” he managed.

“How are you?” She reached out and covered both his hands with hers, squeezing them reassuringly, and Neal had never wanted to break down more in his life. But he wouldn’t.

“It’s not about me,” he said gruffly, grateful for her caring. Images of the afternoon’s events flashed through his brain, unwanted, and he suppressed them as best he could.

An hour passed during which Diana had to threaten gunplay to get Neal to stop his pacing. At last Nurse Tracee appeared, with what turned out to be not much of an update – the surgery was progressing “as expected” – but Neal was grateful for the information nonetheless. He texted the update to El, even though he knew she’d be in-flight by now, so that she’d get the message when she landed.

At last the surgery was over and Dr. Niman came to explain what had to be done, but at the end of a long dissertation, it appeared the prognosis was a good one, barring post-operative complications. “We’re really extraordinarily lucky, Mr. Caffrey, that the bullet wasn’t five millimeters to the left, or a major blood vessel would have been severed.”

“Thank you, Doctor, thank you!” Neal said gratefully, thinking that this man was perhaps a miracle worker. He turned to Diana as the doctor left, and she threw her arms around his neck and just _squeezed_ him tight, and he realized how scared she had been for Peter too, so he held her until she parted from him, embarrassed. 

“I’ve got to call El,” he said, excusing himself to find a private space somewhere in the hospital. He settled on an empty stairwell, and waited impatiently for the call to go through.

“Neal?” she answered, breathless.

“He came out of surgery OK. He’s in recovery.” There was a muffled sound as he guessed she was holding the phone to her chest and he could hear her crying. “El?” He waited patiently, never wanting to break down more, but he knew to do so now would be a disaster.

After several minutes, she came back on the line. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Where are you?”

“The taxi stand and I think everyone around me must think I’m a lunatic.”

“Don’t be silly, of course they do,” he kidded, and talked to her in soothing tones until she was inside a taxi and on her way. Taking a deep breath, he returned to the waiting room to find Diana talking with a pair of NYPD detectives.

“They’re here to take your statement,” Diana explained, and Neal sat with them for another half hour, giving details of what had happened, which included drawing them a diagram of who was standing where, information on the manner and dress of the kid with the gun, a description of said gun, including make and model number, and then a rundown of the specials in the pizza joint where it all happened.

“Wow, that’s… thorough,” commented Detective Sanchez.

“It’s kind of seared into my brain,” Neal admitted. 

\----

Neal paced the width of the front steps of the hospital, waiting for Elizabeth to arrive. He’d walked out with the detectives, intending to meet her when she arrived so she wouldn’t have to navigate the seemingly endless warren of hallways inside. He strode up to the cab when she finally showed up, paid the man, then helped Elizabeth out of the car. She threw herself into his arms and he held on tight, relieved to have her home at last, to have one less thing to worry about. “He’s in recovery,” Neal said before she had a chance to say anything. “It’ll be a while before he’s awake.”

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

Neal shook his head. “It’s not about me. How are you?” he rubbed his hands over her upper arms and pulled her closer. 

“Desperate to see him. Stressed. Tired. About what you’d expect.”

Neal nodded and led her into the hospital.

\----

Neal sat watching Elizabeth doze at last in the chair she’d moved beside Peter’s bed, her chin in her hand. Beyond her, Peter slept the sleep of the heavily sedated, and hadn’t moved in the five hours since they’d finally been allowed to be with him. The doctors were cautiously optimistic regarding Peter’s recovery – time would tell if there were any infections or other complications.

Neal shifted in his chair and contemplated going for another coffee; he didn’t want to disturb Elizabeth, who’d finally succumbed to her exhaustion a few minutes ago. He didn’t even particularly want any coffee – he imagined it was slowly eating holes through his stomach lining – he just wanted something to do. He _needed_ it. 

A low moan and a sigh from the hospital bed provided the wanted diversion. Neal was on his feet in a second, El blinking awake at the noise, both of them holding each other as Peter appeared to be coming around at last. Peter grimaced, his eyebrows furrowed and he sighed again; Neal wondered what he was thinking, because he seemed to be pantomiming his usual reactions whenever Neal pitched an idea for a sting on a perp. The thought made Neal smile a bit, then wonder at the nutty thoughts a lack of sleep was doing to him.

At last, Peter opened his eyes, blinking in confusion for a few seconds to see the strange place he was in. “Peter?” Neal said. 

“Honey?”

His eyes focused on both of them, and he smiled broadly. “I knew you’d be here,” he said and closed his eyes again. 

Neal tightened his arm around El’s shoulders and allowed himself to relax just a little. Peter awake was good news… very good news.

\----

“Hon, I don’t understand?” El was saying. Neal could hear her voice carrying down the corridor; she sounded confused, agitated.

“I’m sorry, El, I’m sorry El,” Peter kept repeating. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, please believe me.”

“Something wrong?” Neal put the two cups of tea he carried down on the bedside tray.

“I – yes, I mean, he’s going on about the time he lost his wedding ring – it was years ago, I don’t understand why he’d bring it up now.”

“Peter?” Neal looked into Peter’s face, saw how flushed he was, his eyes had become glassy again. He rested a hand against his forehead. “He’s burning up.” He dashed from the room to find a nurse; sure enough, Peter’s temperature was spiking north of 104.

“The antibiotics we have him on must not be effective for him,” the nurse explained. “I’ll have to go and find a doctor.” 

Neal stood tensely in the hall with Elizabeth as the doctor and nurse conferred at Peter’s bedside. He had his arms wrapped around himself, his back straight, legs locked. He felt like he could break in half from the tension. El, in contrast, looked like a limp doll, using the wall to prop herself up. Neal shook himself and went to put an arm around her, to keep her up.

The doctor came to join them shortly. “He has an infection that is resisting the antibiotics we have him on. This is common, nothing to be overly concerned about, but I’m going to adjust his meds and move him to the ICU just to be safe. The nurse will explain where to go, and the visiting hours for family – they’re a lot more restrictive.”

“Is there nothing else that can be done?” Neal asked.

“I assure you, we are already doing it – it’s a waiting game from now on.”

Neal watched the doctor leave and felt El sag a little beside him. He pulled her closer and straightened his own frame to support her. He thought about his relief when Peter had first come out of the anesthesia, how seeing him awake and aware had made him feel as if some corner had been turned. But he realized now that his hope had been premature and it would be a long, long time before he could relax again 

\----

El snorted softly and then came awake. Neal laid a steadying hand on her hip, to let her know he was still there. It had been 48 hours since Peter had been admitted to the ICU, and neither of them could leave him behind, even at the urging of the hospital staff. So they stayed in the private waiting area just outside the unit, visiting Peter whenever they could. He slept most of the time, and when he was awake, he was on too many painkillers to really register their presence, so the time was rough on both Neal and El.

At the moment, El had thankfully fallen asleep with her head on Neal's lap. Neal merely sat motionless, staring blankly at the television with the sound off. It was a skill he’d developed in prison – the ability to blank his mind so that great swaths of time could pass by unnoticed. It came in handy during those times when the guards would randomly toss his cell and remove anything he might derive the slightest bit of diversion from, like books or art supplies. He found it easy to slip into and out of lately, so that he could be “on” for El and give her the support she needed, and shut himself off when she didn’t need him. The alternative – processing what had happened – was not preferable, and sleep was inadvisable.

Friends filtered in and out while they were there – Diana, Jones, Hughes and even Moz – making sure they had what they needed, with Moz having gone to Chez Burke to get them changes of clothes and to look after Satchmo. The nurses were very kind and accommodating, letting them use the showers in unoccupied patient rooms as needed. It was an odd existence, this limbo where they waited for some improvement in Peter’s condition, and they each took solace in the other’s presence, even if they’d long ago lost the need to voice it.

It was 3:15 on the morning of the third day when Nancy, the charge nurse for the floor appeared to let them know that Peter’s fever had broken. El’s eyes teared up as she clutched Neal's hand to her chest. 

“He’s awake – would you like to see him?” the nurse offered.

Elizabeth rose and self-consciously touched her face and her hair. “Trust me, you’ll be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen,” Neal chided. 

“Can Neal come too?” she pleaded. 

“Of course,” Nancy said with a kind smile – more than one visitor at a time was technically against the rules. “There’s no telling how long he’ll be awake and you both should see him.” Even though Neal was not technically related, the staff had been very understanding and let Neal in to see Peter, saying, “Family is family, no matter the shape it takes,” on more than one occasion. Neal wondered if they weren’t the first unique pairing to grace the hospital’s halls, and he was grateful for their understanding.

When they got to the tiny room where Peter was, his eyes were closed, but he opened them when he heard their approach. “Heeeyyy,” he drawled, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Hi hon,” El chirped, barely-contained tears making her voice higher-pitched than usual. She leaned over and kissed him deeply, caressing his face and hair when she pulled away. Peter’s face was pale, his eyes sunken amid dark circles, but they shone as he looked on her, and he held his arm out in Neal's direction, beckoning. Neal stepped forward to take the trembling hand, and leaned over to plant a kiss on the back of it. 

“It is good to see you,” Neal choked out, his voice low and full of emotion.

“I love you both so much,” Peter said, beaming. He clutched at Neal's hand and didn’t let go. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple days. You gave us a bit of a scare, but you’ll be just fine now. Just fine.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through this, both of you.”

“Oh hon, don’t worry, please. Just rest and get better,” Elizabeth said.

“You look tired,” Peter said to Neal. “You been sleeping? Eating?”

Neal shook his head and looked down at the floor. “That’s not important.”

Peter tugged at his hand and Neal met his eyes. “It is to me,” he murmured. 

“Neal's been like a rock, hon, I don’t know what I would have done without him here with me.” She turned to Neal and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you, you know that?” she said, and Neal smiled and looked away. 

They stayed another ten minutes before Peter’s eyes began to droop. “We should leave you to rest,” Neal said.

“Yes,” Peter said. “You should both go home and get some rest.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then can I claim sick man’s prerogative and insist that you both go home anyway? You look done-in.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

\----

It took a doctor and two nurses to help Elizabeth convince Neal that Peter was out of the woods and that he would miss nothing if he went home to at least shower and rest until visiting hours started up again at 10:00 am. It had been over four days since Neal had even been to their home, El pointed out, and they both needed the break. So he got them a cab, and he escorted El to their front door, and he got the dog to go out without barking once, so as not to disturb Moz up in the guest room on the third floor. 

“Why don’t you go and shower?” El asked him, moving around the kitchen. “I’ll make us some eggs and toast before we turn in.”

“Sure,” he said reluctantly, but at least it was something to do. He went into the bathroom, undressed and ran the water as hot as he could stand it, then got under the stream and hunched his shoulders forward, letting the warm water sluice down his back, easing its way into his aching muscles. 

He wasn’t sure what did it – maybe it was the tile floor of the shower stall – so like the flooring at the pizza place – or maybe it was the BANG-BANG of the screen door that sounded as El let the dog back into the house, but Neal found himself flashing back to that horrible day earlier in the week, when the only thing standing between Peter and certain death was the breadth of Neal’s hands pressing on the bullet wound, and his hands just weren’t ever going to be big enough.

_“Peter, Peter!” he said, pressing an old apron the pizza place’s owner had supplied into Peter’s belly. It was quickly soaked through with blood, but Neal didn’t dare remove his hands._

_”Paramedics are on their way, Caffrey,” Nate Fleming, some guy from the Cyber Division told him; Nate had consulted on a phishing scam with the White Collar team earlier that year, Neal remembered he had a wife and young daughter._

_”You hear that, Peter? Paramedics are on their way.”_

_“Good, good,” Peter had said calmly, almost approvingly, as if evaluating Neal on his performance that afternoon. ”Probably more pressure, huh?” he suggested._

_Neal bore down on Peter’s wound, knowing before he did exactly what it would do, and still flinching when Peter screamed and cursed._

_”I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he muttered even as he pressed harder, and the blood pooled between his fingers, and it just wouldn’t stop._

_”Don’t be,” Peter gasped, and his eyes rolled back in his head._

_”Peter!”_

_Peter opened his eyes, clearly fighting against the urge to pass out. ”I’m here, I’m here. Good, that’s good, Neal, keep me talking.”_

_“Keep you talking? OK, if you die, I’m going to kill you, you know that?” Peter laughed. ”You think I’m kidding? I’ll track you down, I will. Look at me, I’ve got my determined face on.”_

_“Determined face? You just look freaked out.”_

_“Well, they’re very similar. Listen. Listen, Peter, I mean it, you dare leave me and I’ll never forgive you.”_

_“Stop being so melodramatic.”_

_“You stop bleeding to death and I’ll consider it.”_

_“Hey, listen, this is probably going to get worse before it gets better, so promise me something?”_

_“Anything.”_

_“You’ll take care of El? Make sure she doesn’t worry too much?”_

_“You’ll take care of her yourself,” Neal said, knowing what Peter was leaving unspoken and denying the truth of it._

_“Promise me, Neal.” Peter grabbed hold of his wrist then, his brown eyes boring into Neal's with an intensity that Neal would never forget, and could not back away from._

_“Of course, Peter.”_

_“Take care of our family, Neal, you do that.”_

_“You know I will, always.”_

_And then the ambulance arrived and Neal was gently pulled away as they treated Peter._

In the shower, Neal stared down on his hands, surprised to see no blood there, caked underneath his fingernails and staining the hem of his sleeves as it had done on that day. 

Self-consciously, he wiped his hands against his hips, then rinsed and turned off the shower. As he was drying, the furnace kicked on in the house, the distant WHOOSH sound eerily familiar, triggering another flashback.

_The furnace sounded so similar to the strange _FWUMP_ sound of the defibrillator being deployed, not once but three times, to bring Peter back from certain death in the emergency room. Each time they did, Neal flinched as if it was happening to him. It was something Neal wouldn’t soon forget, nor was the feeling of abject helplessness that washed over him, exactly like the wave on the Jersey shore that almost took his life when he was five._

_But he was on the phone with El as it was happening, and he’d promised Peter to look after her, to protect her, and there was no way he’d let on to her what was happening – there was no need to upset her – not in that moment when she was at her most low, her most helpless. There would be nothing she could do, just like Neal, but if he could spare her from that feeling for just a few more minutes, he’d do it, over and over._

They had to shock him three times, but they got him back. Thank God they got him back, and Neal didn’t have to face a life without Peter in it. The idea, even now, was horrifying, shocking, unthinkable. _He’d almost lost him._ Neal could feel his heart starting to beat faster as that realization sunk in. As the memories once again assaulted him – the look on the kid’s face as the gun went off, as shocked as anyone else in the restaurant; the blood bubbling out of Peter, pooling beneath Neal's hands; the ride in the ambulance; Peter flatlining in the ER, the helplessness, the uncertainty of all of it.

There was a tightness in Neal's chest suddenly, and he found he couldn’t take a complete breath. His vision began to tunnel and he stumbled against the bathroom door heavily, fell to the floor onto his hands and knees. He tried to calm himself but found he couldn’t, thought if he could only take a deep breath, this would stop, this feeling of panic would stop.

The bathroom door banged into his side as someone tried to enter. “Neal?” Moz said. Neal had forgotten – his friend had been staying over to look after Satch. “Neal!” he said when he saw Neal on the floor, then pushed the door more so he could squeeze himself through. Neal tried to move, but his limbs were like water and he just fell over on his side. But Moz was there, a cool hand on Neal's shoulder, assessing the situation and thinking quickly. Retrieving a paper bag from a local pharmacy from the trash, he held it to Neal's face. “Here, breathe slowly, man, deep breaths, that’s it,” he said, rubbing Neal's arm until his breathing was under control. 

“What’s going on?” Neal recognized El’s voice calling from the bottom of the stairs – she sounded concerned.

“It’s nothing, just a little slip in the bathroom,” Moz called. He looked down on Neal, bespectacled eyes large with concern. “You OK?” he asked.

Neal struggled to sit up and Moz helped with a hand under his elbow. “I’m fine. I don’t know –“

“Save it,” Moz said strongly and grabbed a robe from the back of the bathroom door and dropped it around Neal's shoulders. “You’ve been running on fumes for days, I’m surprised it took this long.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I haven’t noticed this, this,” he gestured vaguely at Neal's entire body, “performance? It’s just like when Kate died, only worse. You keep too much bottled up inside, Neal, you try to take care of everything yourself and you wind up paying the price for it eventually.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“Oh really?” Moz asked sarcastically. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate? Did you think you could keep all of those plates going and not lose a single one?”

Neal just looked at Moz, and the pain and fear and exhaustion of the last days finally caught up to him. “I had to –“ he sobbed, and Moz crouched down next to him, pulled him into his arms awkwardly. “I couldn’t let him down, Moz,” he whispered, and Moz held him tighter. 

“I know, I know,” Moz muttered. “You didn’t.”

“I almost lost him,” Neal sobbed, “h-he died, Moz. No one knows that, no one.”

“But he didn’t Neal, he didn’t. Come on, shh,” Moz soothed, and he held onto Neal until he’d stopped crying and could breathe again. “Here,” Moz said, standing and handing Neal a box of Kleenex. “Clean yourself up. You are not a pretty crier.”

Neal snorted as he laughed, then blew his nose and used the sink to pull himself to his feet.

Moz backed out of the small room and peered up at Neal from the hallway. “Come on, smells like El’s making eggs. You know how much I love her eggs.”

“Be down in a minute,” Neal said as Moz made for the stairs, and headed for the bedroom, intending to get some pajamas on. 

He sat on the bed for a minute, then lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, completely wrung out. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and instead of seeing Peter injured and broken on the pizza shop’s floor or sick and diminished in his hospital bed, he saw him as he always did, strong and whole, his arm around El as he gazed at Neal with laughing, loving eyes. “You did it,” Neal imagined Peter saying as he finally fell asleep, “you kept our family together.” 

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
